hy or science. The
complete antithesis to that spirit is the evil principle which Pope
attacks as dulness. This false goddess is the literary Ahriman; and
Pope's natural antipathies, exaggerated by his personal passions and
weaknesses to extravagant proportions, express themselves fully in his
great mock-epic. His theory may be expressed in a parody of Nelson's
immortal advice to his midshipmen: 'Be an honest man and hate dulness as
you do the devil.' Dulness generates the asphyxiating atmosphere in
which no true literature can thrive. It oppresses the lungs and
irritates the nerves of men whose keen brilliant intellects mark them as
the natural servants of literature. Seen from this point of view, there
is an honourable completeness in Pope's career. Possibly a modern
subject of literature may, without paradox, express a certain gratitude
to Pope for a virtue which he would certainly be glad to imitate. Pope
was the first man who made an independence by literature. First and
last, he seems to have received over 8,000_l._ for his translation of
Homer, a sum then amply sufficient to enable him to live in comfort. No
sum at all comparable to this was ever received by a poet or novelist
until the era of Scott and Byron. Now, without challenging admiration
for Pope on the simple ground that he made his fortune, it is difficult
to exaggerate the importance of this feat at the time. A contemporary
who, whatever his faults, was a still more brilliant example than Pope
of the purely literary qualities, suggests a curious parallel. Voltaire,
as he tells us, was so weary of the humiliations that dishonour letters,
that to stay his disgust he resolved to make 'what scoundrels call a
great fortune.' Some of Voltaire's means of reaching this end appear to
have been more questionable than Pope's. But both of these men of genius
early secured their independence by raising themselves permanently above
the need of writing for money. It may be added in passing that there is
a curious similarity in intellect and character between Pope and
Voltaire which would on occasion be worth fuller exposition. The use,
too, which Pope made of his fortune was thoroughly honourable. We
scarcely give due credit, as a rule, to the man who has the rare merit
of distinctly recognising his true vocation in life, and adhering to it
with unflinching pertinacity. Probably the fact that such virtue
generally brings a sufficient personal reward in this world seems